As nations go further to field the best team, Steve Trew wonders where it will end Triathlon is a pretty clean sport – at least, that’s what we think. But last year’s revelations about Lance Armstrong and the planned doping programmes ...
As nations go further to field the best team, Steve Trew wonders where it will end Triathlon is a pretty clean sport – at least, that’s what we think. But last year’s revelations about Lance Armstrong and the planned doping programmes in professional cycling have raised serious doubts for all of us – all of us who love our sport. When a top-level sport can hide systematic doping, it couldn’t really get much worse… could it? Sometime soon The athlete lay there in the half dawn, quietly checking their body and awaiting the rigours of the day. With a sigh the athlete stretched out their right arm into the soft rubberised pulsometer that immediately bleeped back 24 beats per minute. Twenty-four? The athlete remembered the early days with their heart rate laughably high at 48bpm. It seemed like a different world back then – perhaps it was a different world back then. It was certainly a different existence. One hand stretched out and pushed the buttons above the dispensing chute. Within seconds a glass of opaque, milky liquid and a bowl with a myriad pills and pellets in an infinite variety of colours appeared. The athlete wondered sometimes what the pills were, but knew better than to ask. Everybody had to take them if they wanted to succeed. Somewhere near When the buzzer sounded, the athlete exited the cell and walked, then jogged, with all the others – all in the same grey, uniform-like tracksuits – and then stood quietly until The Coach (the athlete always thought the word “Coach” with a capital letter) and the assistant coaches appeared, and the athletes went through that same routine that they had done so often before. Regarding the rows of grey-suited lookalikes, the athlete wondered about them – their names, their backgrounds – and whether to dare talk to them. Nobody had ever said not to, but nobody ever talked. It wasn’t important to talk, it was important to succeed! To win! To be the best! But not for the self, of course – for the country. The athlete wondered where that knowledge came from. It had always been there… always. The stretching, the exercising continued, as it did every day. Then it would be swimming – and then the medical checks. Then it would be cycling – and then the medical checks. Then running – and medical checks, again and again. For this was what sport was all about. They stopped to eat. All of them receiving their individual food requirements and the plastic box of their individual pills and pellets and tablets. They accepted them, of course. For this was sport – top-class sport – and this was what top-class sport was all about. Finally the day drew to a close, a close like all the other days. The athlete hated it, yet somehow looked forward to it. Sometimes The Coach and The Doctor spoke to the athlete. And the athlete was able to speak back. Lying there, waiting, the athlete anticipated the important visitors. Did they have a life outside the camp? Did anyone have a life any more, inside or outside? Somehow The visitors entered, carrying the paraphernalia of their trade and their calling. The athlete cowered back. Electrodes were attached, meters strung, drips dripped and wires wired. The athlete lay there accepting it all, as ever. Tiny points pricked tiny agonies of consciousness into the subdued body. Tapes and tubes were attached to the arm, more pills and pellets. And then the syringes started. Finally: “You please us. Your body systems are good. They grow better. You are a credit to us, a credit to our nation.” A shadow of a half-smile crossed the stern, grey face. Almost. The athlete lay there, still. The words echoed. A credit to Our Nation! It was the highest honour – she was only 12 years old and already she was fulfilling some of what the programme had laid out for her. To be the best. To make her country the best. Consequences? There were no consequences. For this was sport – top-class sport – and this was what top-class sport was all about. Triradar.com is the online home of Triat